Good Literature
by PeridotTea91
Summary: The angels have fallen, the pearly gates have been shut down. Desperate for a way to undo Metatron's spell, Sam and Kevin turn to Crowley, who receives a cryptic message from Abaddon regarding Alphas and Eve, Mother of Monsters. Diving into the Men of Letters records, Sam finds out about a set of classified journals belonging to a former hunter turned MoL field agent.
1. Lost in Translation(s)

Books, notes, and various Men of Letter files covered the tables of the bunker's library. After hours of tedious research and digging through the archives, Sam and Kevin were at their wits' ends. A few months ago, the now-infamous "Scribe of God," stole Castiel's grace and used it in a spell that effectively closed the gates of Heaven for good. Thousands of angels fell, looking like meteors against the night sky, and setting off alarms around the world. Now, Sam and Kevin desperately searched for a way to undo Metatron's handiwork with the help of Kevin's translations from the angel and demon tablets. Unfortunately, they hit a snag with the primordial texts, with the closest language Kevin could translate to being Proto-Elamite Cuneiform. Or, as Sam and Dean so eloquently put it, "doodles".

Dean had abandoned ship hours ago, after receiving an unexpected phone call from a now _very_ human Castiel. Eager for an excuse to avoid research (as usual), Dean packed a bag and headed to Rexford, Idaho with the promise of a possible case. Thus, Sam and Kevin were left to pick up the slack. After numerous dead ends, several cups of coffee, and 24 volumes of _Zimmerman's Encyclopedia of Extinct Languages_, the pair had nothing new to report when Dean checked in hours later.

"Have you tried Professor Morrison?" Dean suggested over the phone.

Several years ago, the Seattle anthropology professor assisted the Winchesters, unknowingly, with an Amazon case they had been stuck on. They consulted him, again, a while later during a case involving sacrifices to the Mayan god, Cacao. While no one could ever replace Bobby, Professor Morrison had proven useful.

"Yeah, he's unreachable," Sam answered as he sipped his coffee on the library steps, "took a sabbatical to live among the Trobrianders of Papua New Guinea. Needless to say, we're burnt."

"Well, there's one guy there who is nothing, if not well-rested."

"Crowley?" Sam asked incredulously, catching Kevin's attention from where he sat at one of the library's tables.

"Well, we're not keeping him chained up for his one-liners."

"It's worth a shot, I guess," Sam conceded.

"Just be careful. Don't fall for any of his 'Quid Pro Quo' crap," Dean warned.

"Noted. So, how about you? How's Cas' lead panning out?"

"Four victims suddenly exploded. I tried EMF, I looked for hex bags, sulfur—nada."

"Spontaneous combustion?" Sam wondered aloud, "Maybe the Thule?"

"No, no, no. I already ruled them out," Dean dismissed, "the bodies were vaporized. They weren't burned."

"That sounds like a real case, Dean. I should be there."

"Naw, man. That's-that's, uh… not necessary," Dean rejected somewhat distractedly, "No, I, uh-I got this one covered."

Before Sam could say anything more, Dean ended the call, earning an annoyed scoff from the younger Winchester. Dean had been acting beyond strange lately. Hell, a lot of things had been strange as of late, ever since the incident in the church. At the same time that Metatron was busy shutting down Heaven, Sam had been on the last of the three trials that would seal the gates of Hell forever. No more demons, or hellhounds, or crossroads deals, or Crowley. The trials had taken a serious toll on Sam's health, but to him, it was more than worth it.

In Sam's mind, the trials were a means to cleanse himself, to finally make amends for all his failings. Ruby, demon blood, Lucifer, not looking for Dean—Sam had never forgiven himself for his mistakes. And deep down knew that his brother hadn't either. But Dean had stopped him, just as he was about to administer the final dosage of purified human blood to Crowley, thus successfully curing a demon. Even when told that the price for closing Hell was death, Sam didn't hesitate. He was ready, and more than willing to make the sacrifice.

Sam thought about that night a lot—the night he _almost_ sealed Hell forever, the night falling angels filled the skies. Despite not finishing the final task, the trials still took their toll. Ever since, Dean had been treating him with kid gloves, like he was fragile and about to break. Honestly, Sam felt it was completely unnecessary; this was the best he had felt in years! Although, it did increasingly concern him how often there seemed to be large spans of time that he simply couldn't remember. Perhaps it was an after effect of the trials, Sam didn't know for sure. What he _did_ know, however, was that they had much bigger problems than his lapses in memory.

Sam made his way back into the library, where Kevin was still busy researching. He hadn't even made it to the table when the young prophet began interrogating him.

"You cannot seriously be considering going to Crowley for help," Kevin stated abruptly.

Sam let out a heavy sigh, "I'm not happy about it either, but what other choice have we got? We're getting nowhere and Crowley is chained up in the dungeon. We might as well use him."

"That doesn't mean we can trust him."

"You're right. But all we're doing right now is spinning our wheels. Besides, it's not like he can do anything while chained up."

Kevin pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair, sighing in defeat, "I guess."

"Look, I'm just gonna show him a small piece of what we're working with and see what he can do. Then, we'll figure out the rest from there," Sam explained, successfully appeasing him.

"Alright. Here, try this one," Kevin handed one of the pages on the table to Sam, "those are the symbols that appear the most throughout the text. It's a good place to start."

"Right. I'll be back."

Sam headed off down the winding halls to room 7B—one of several archive rooms, and home to the bunker's dungeon—where the King of Hell was currently being held captive. He had been locked up there ever since the fall, with minimal contact and most days spent in total darkness. Getting the crooked demon to help them with _anything_ would certainly be a feat. Admittedly, Sam would sometimes forget that Crowley was even there. But then, someone would have to go into the archives for a book or Men of Letters' file and he would begin prattling on, mostly whining. Even in captivity, the former King of the Crossroads proved to be obnoxious.

Sam perched on the edge of the table in front of Crowley, watching him expectantly as he glossed over the page before him. "I've been asking for reading material for _weeks_ and _this_ is what you bring me? Pass," the demon chided as he slid Kevin's notes across the table in disinterest.

"Can you read Elamite, or not?" Sam asked coldly. He had absolutely _no_ patience for Crowley's attitude.

"It's by no means my favorite of the ancient tongues, but yes."

"Will you help us read it?"

"Why on earth would I?" Crowley questioned derisively.

"Because I was there that night. I saw what humanity did to you," Sam retorted, earning a quiet scoff from the King of Hell, "Like it or not, there's still a little part of you that's not a douche."

"Sorry, Moose. To the last drop."

Sam pursed his lips in irritation as he stood, refusing to look away. Nothing with the King of Hell was ever easy or straightforward. It honestly got on Sam's last nerve. Placing his hands on the table, Sam leaned forward so that their faces were mere inches apart.

"Crowley, the _only_ reason you're alive is because my brother thought you might be useful. So far, you've done jack," Sam stated clearly, his voice steady despite his obvious annoyance. Sam then shook his head and sighed in mock disappointment, "Back to 'Plan B', I guess."

Sam straightened and took Kevin's notes from the tabletop. As he turned to walk away, Crowley spoke up, "Which is?"

"Give you up to Abaddon," the hunter answered nonchalantly as he continued to walk away, smirking slightly. Crowley was taking the bait.

"You think you can threaten me with that _hack_!? She's all fury, no finesse."

I'm not so sure," Sam taunted smugly as he turned back to face the confined demon, "our last encounter with Abaddon, she was, uh- she was pretty terrifying. Scarier than you've been in years."

"Give that to me," Crowley ordered angrily as he reached for the paper.

Sam walked back to the table and handed Crowley the page, only to have the demon ball it up and hit him in the face with it. Sam cocked his head; he really should have expected that. Crossing his arms, Crowley glared at the hunter like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. Jaw ticking in annoyance, Sam turned on his heels and stormed from the room. Apparently having a taste of humanity only made the King of Hell even more aggravating.

"How'd it go?" Kevin asked as Sam returned to the library.

"About as well as expected."

"So he's refusing to cooperate," Kevin surmised as Sam took a seat across from him.

"Pretty much."

It was times like these that Sam really wished they still had Bobby. The ornery hunter hoarded books and translations like a one-man-library. Sam knew Bobby had made copies of everything he owned and stashed them at various storage facilities across the country, but neither Winchester knew the locations of any except one or two. Of course, even if they _did_ have access to Bobby's collection, they would still be struggling to translate Kevin's notes correctly. Ah, the joys of dead languages.

After a few hours of letting Crowley stew in his juices, Sam decided to take another crack at him. Surprisingly, he was a bit more cooperative. Of course, Crowley wouldn't be Crowley if he didn't always turn everything into a business transaction.

"I'll do it. But I want something in return."

"Yeah? What's that?" Sam scoffed, suspicious of the chained demon before him.

"A telephone call."

Sam tongued the inside of his cheek and shook his head in disbelief. Crowley was really in no position to do _any_ sort of bargaining, yet here he was at the first opportunity. The hunter in Sam wanted nothing more than to punch him in his smug, poncey face. However, the more logical, Man of Letters side of him knew that Crowley was the only option they had at the moment. Without another word, Sam headed out into the hallway where Kevin was waiting, ignoring Crowley's calling to him. After a bit of back-and-forth discussion between the two of them, Sam and Kevin reluctantly gave in to the King of Hell's request. But before he would be contacting _anyone_, they needed proof of his reliability.

"What are these?" Sam demanded as he once again shoved a page from Kevin's translations at the King of Hell.

"Ingredients," he teased.

"More specific."

"Ingredients for a spell," Crowley sassed as he pushed the paper towards Sam. Sam roughly shoved the paper back at him, making it increasingly clear that he was done playing games. Crowley rolled his eyes and boredly read: "Heart of a Nephilim. Cupid's bow. Grace of an angel."

Kevin eagerly thrust more of his notes at the demon, "And the rest of them."

"Phone call," Crowley answered smugly, "You'll get the rest when I get paid. Now, who's going to be a dear and open a vein?"

Sam pulled the nearby medical kit on the table towards him and unrolled it, revealing a set of five syringes as Kevin and Crowley watched on. Sam had just pulled one from the kit and was about to prick himself when the conniving demon stopped him.

"Ah-bup-bup-bup."

"What?"

"Not yours. _His_," Crowley stated, nodding towards Kevin.

"What difference does it make?" Sam questioned, admittedly confused.

"I've had yours. Stuck in here, you can't fault me for wanting a little variety."

"No way!" Kevin protested in disgust. For the past two years, ever since Kevin had presented as a Prophet of the Lord, he had been taunted, tormented, and mentally manipulated by the King of Hell. Crowley wanting to use Kevin's blood to contact Abaddon was just another way for him to dig under his skin.

"What's the matter, short round? Afraid of needles?"

"No. I just have a policy of not giving blood to anyone who's murdered my mother," Kevin seethed.

"I… have… nothing but time," Crowley crooned raspily with a smirk and his arms out wide (or at least as wide as they could go in chains).

Sam angrily jammed the syringe back into place and began rolling the kit back up, "You're a dick."

"Good luck with that translation," he mocked.

Kevin was at his breaking point in frustration. Crowley knew that he was their only real hope for translating the Elamite "doodles". Naturally, he intended to milk the situation as much as he could, grasping onto what minuscule amount of leverage he had. However, Kevin was tired of Crowley's games, not to mention the constant wheel-spinning. Grabbing a syringe from the kit, Kevin angrily pushed up his sleeve and shoved the needle into his arm, just above his anti-possession tattoo. Crowley smirked pompously as he watched, more than satisfied to see Kevin drawing blood for him.

Despite getting what he wanted, however, there were a couple of hiccups with Crowley's "phone call". The idea of a magic, albeit macabre, means of communication having connectivity issues was borderline comedic. But the fact that the once terrifying King of Hell got placed on hold and disregarded by his own henchman was downright poetic. The formerly infamous King of the Crossroads was now being ignored by the very demons he supposedly controlled through fear. Eventually, the would-be-usurper, Abaddon, answered Crowley's call, much to everyone's relief.

"Crowley. How the hell are you?"

"Abaddon. Still running around attempting to pilfer what doesn't belong to you? And how are the numbers?"

"You mean souls? I've managed to double on your projections. Now, how did I _ever_ pull off such a feat?" she usurper teased.

Crowley paused briefly in realization, "You're taking souls before their time… voiding my contracts!" He bellowed, causing Sam and Kevin to exchange concerned looks. They couldn't hear Abaddon's end of the call but were hearing enough of Crowley's to know that whatever she was saying wasn't good.

"That's right. I'm taking it all down, brick by brick. It's over. The days of Crowley, King of the Bureaucrats, are done," the Knight of Hell taunted.

"You… ganky, putrescent skanger!" Sam furrowed his brow at the insult and once again glanced over at Kevin, who simply shrugged. "It may look like bean-counting to you. It may lack a certain adolescent flair. But my way _works_! You think you can control Hell with chaos alone? Without the support of those who are still loyal to me!?"

"No one's seen you in weeks. And last I saw you, Howdy and Doody had you tied up nice and tight. Seems to reason, they've turned you into a kennel dog. How does it feel, Crowley, to be the Winchester's bitch? It's been fun indulging your bluffs, but we both know you have no _real_ authority left, no leverage. You have nothing to offer me. You have _nothing_."

"Your way will backfire. You. Will. _Burn_."

"I can't wait," the demoness mocked, unimpressed by Crowley's words, "But in the meantime, you've got more to worry about than Hell finally being in the hands of a more effective ruler."

"Meaning?"

"Let's just say an old friend of yours might be making an appearance soon. Word on the street is that the Alphas are on the move, trying to resurrect mommy dearest. Now I wonder, Crowley, does Eve hold a grudge?"

Crowley froze, eyes widening slightly at Abaddon's words, "You're bluffing. The Winchesters killed her years ago. I had her corpse!"

"Hmm… but we both know that nothing ever really _stays_ dead, does it, Crowley? Better watch your back, pet," Abaddon taunted, getting enjoyment from his obvious discomfort and ending the connection.

Crowley pushed the bowl away from himself, looking rather defeated. Sam and Kevin once again exchanged looks, wondering what it was that Abaddon had told him. After a moment of silence, Sam spoke up, pulling the demon out of his momentarily catatonic state.

"Crowley?"

"Bring me the translations. I keep my agreements," he replied somberly. Kevin quickly gathered the papers and passed them to Sam, who then slid them to Crowley.

Unfortunately, the translations didn't bring good news. Metatron's spell was irreversible, meaning that Heaven really was closed for good.

"The new world order—we're stuck with it. But that's not all," Crowley began.

"What?"

"Abaddon. What she told me," Crowley explained, "we've got bigger problems now. Monsters, the remaining Alphas, are trying to bring Eve _back_."

"What? How!?" Sam half-shouted.

"I'm sorry, who?" Kevin asked, confused.

"Eve, Mother of All," Crowley answers as he slumped slightly in his seat, "she's the one who created all monsters—werewolves, vampires, and so on."

"But why!? _How_!?" Sam pressed.

"Don't know. I presume that with Heaven weakened, and Abaddon leading Hell into utter chaos, the Alphas saw an opportunity."

"Great. So, now we find the Alphas and stop them. Or find another phoenix and get its ashes," Sam concluded aloud as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Oh, is that all," Kevin asked dryly as he crossed his arms.

"Have fun with that," Crowley stated sarcastically, "What I'm more interested in is _how_ they plan to bring back mummy dearest. If my memory serves correctly, you bumbling lot killed her without breaking a sweat. So, the bitch's soul has been in Purgatory this entire time. What few Alphas remain will have to get creative, since monsters can't escape Purgatory without a willing _human_ vessel and their own corpse to return to. Without that, well…"

Sam paused and turned back towards the King of Hell, "Wait… _You_ know about the spell?"

"Of course, I do. I'm bloody _Crowley_."

"So, what does this mean, exactly?" Kevin asked with uncertainty, looking to the taller hunter for guidance.

"Another apocalypse, maybe?" Sam surmised, "Definitely more monsters to hunt."

"And the Winchesters at the center of it all," Crowley added with a snarky smirk, "Guess you better get to work."


	2. Good Omens

"You're sure he said that the alphas were trying to bring back Eve?"

"For the last time, _yes_," Kevin answered with an exasperated sigh, "Abaddon told Crowley that the remaining alphas are working on a way as we speak."

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

Dean paced around the bunker's library nursing his third glass of whiskey. Sam had called and filled him in earlier about how utilizing Crowley for the translations went. While the elder of the two Winchesters hadn't entirely held out hope for finding a way to undo the damage caused by Metatron, he certainly hadn't been expecting monster mother news.

"Should've killed that snobby, blood-sucking dick when we had the chance," Dean mumbled angrily as he took another swig from his drink. He savored the burn as it went down, letting it settle him down a little. There was no doubt in his mind that the Alpha Vampire was the ringleader in all of this. Twice now, they'd had a chance to kill him, and _both_ times, the Winchesters were forced to let him go. Nothing drove Dean nuts like an unfinished job.

"So, I've been combing through the Men of Letters' archives, and it looks like they might have something on Eve and Purgatory," Sam called from the furthest of the library's tables, once again surrounded by a mountain of research.

"And?"

"Uh, looks like there may have been some sort of secret initiative to find out more about Eve and monster origins. Seems like they also looked for a way to eradicate _all_ monsters from the US by permanently sealing them in Purgatory."

"Seriously? That's one hell of a game changer… Don't tell me this is another thing like the trials. You barely survived those," Dean questioned warily. He still regretted ever letting his brother take part in those trials in the first place, and they were _still_ paying the price.

"Don't know. Almost all the files have been redacted," Sam explained, holding up several pages of almost entirely blacked out report notes.

"Of course they were," Dean grumbled bitterly as he threw his arms up in annoyance. Kevin let out a heavy sigh as he slumped back into his chair, also disappointed.

"But, there is some good news," Sam continued, "I dug a little deeper into the operation and it looks like the original copies of the research notes were kept in the journals of a hunter-turned-Man of Letters field operative. James Tennison, born December 1929 and based out of a small Washington, DC branch."

Dean paused and furrowed his brow in thought, "Tennison? Why does that name sound familiar?"

Sam shrugged lightly, "No clue. Maybe an old contact of dad's?"

"Hmmm… I don't know."

"So, wait," Kevin interrupted, "the Men of Letters infiltrated the United States Government?"

"It's not surprising. Back in their heyday the Men of Letters had connections all over the world, including Nazi-occupied Germany. They also had a chapter house in each of the major regions of the continental United States," Sam responded.

"So, where is this guy now?" Dean asked impatiently, drawing Sam's attention back to the prior conversation.

"Uh, hang on," Sam reached for the large, emerald, leather bound tome containing the member registry. Once he found what he was looking for, he quickly typed away at his laptop. A few moments later, Sam had an answer, "Deceased. He passed away just this past April."

"Son of a bitch… Well, do we know who his next of kin is? Maybe someone inherited those journals," Dean pushed.

"Well, according to his obituary, he's survived by—oh _crap_."

"What?"

Sam made a face as he scanned his computer screen before turning back to his brother, "Five children, 11 grandchildren, and six great-grandchildren."

"Oh _fuck_," Dean breathed with wide eyes.

"Yeah," Sam huff bemusedly, "big family."

"Alright, well we're gonna need to find out who got those journals. So," Dean redirected his attention to Kevin at the neighboring table, "Why don't you and Sam see if there's a way to hack a copy of the will online. Or anything that can help us. I'm gonna hop in the shower real quick."

"Yeah, good idea," Sam agreed as both he and Kevin got to work, "Hopefully the law firm keeps digital copies of all their files."

By the time Dean had finished showering, however, Sam and Kevin had no new information on the journals. Apparently, the lawyer was part of a small-town law firm that still preferred to keep physical copies, rather than join the information age. Further still, said law firm was now going out of business, so any hope they had of even getting a copy scanned and emailed to them went swiftly down the gutter. That left Plan B.

"Okay. That just means we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way. Kev, see if you can pull the phone numbers for Tennison's kids. Sammy and I will have to call them all. Had to go to one of them, right?"

"Makes sense. Or a favorite grandchild," Sam nodded in agreement.

"Exactly."

"Right," Kevin nodded and in a matter of minutes had a phone list of all the children's phone numbers. Without wasting any more time, Sam and Dean got to work with the phone interviews.

* * *

"I swear to God, that was worse than _anything_ any demon has done to us," Dean groaned as he flung his phone across the table in annoyance and ran his hands down his face.

Sam let out a laugh at his brother's expense, "Dude, why didn't you just hang up?"

"She just went on and on and on! It was like a siren, Sammy… She tried to bore me to death with post-menopausal rambling. How long did she have me!?"

"One hour, 15 minutes," Kevin answered with an amused smirk.

"Oh _God_," Dean whispered, slumping dramatically in his chair.

"Well, while you were busy chatting up your girlfriend, I made progress. According to two of Tennison's children, there was a favorite grandchild-"

"Evie. Yeah, mine said the same," Dean finished as he sat upright again, "So, we're looking for an Evelyn Tennison?

"I guess so? But I didn't really find anyone by that name related to our Men of Letters agent. "

"That's because you're looking for the wrong person. Evie is actually short for Evan Colt," Kevin corrected.

"Really? Huh… Interesting name," Dean remarked.

Kevin pulled his notepad in front of him, "Evan Colt: born september 24th, 1987, both parents deceased, studied classics and archaeology at Cambridge University, and works at the United States Department of the Interior Library and Museum."

Sam and Dean both stared at Kevin for a moment before either of them spoke up, "You got all that in an hour and 15 minutes?"

"_Actually_, I got it in 10 minutes. Sam asked me to look her up while we were waiting for you to get off the phone," Kevin stated matter-of-factly.

"My _apologies_," Dean mock surrendered as Sam chuckled next to him.

"Anyways, the consensus seems to be that if anyone has the journals it would be her. Otherwise, they'd be at the family property in southern Maryland," Sam continued.

"Alright, so then how do ya wanna go in?"

"Uh… Good question. It's a Federal building, so we can't exactly go in with our usual get-ups," Sam stated, admittedly concerned, "I'm not exactly thrilled by the possibility of being put back on the FBI's Most Wanted if this goes south… _Again_."

"Yeah, no, thank you. Uhh… How about reporters? Insurance investigators? Inheritance lawyers?" Dean suggested.

"Maybe?" Sam answered uncertainly.

While Sam and Dean had been brainstorming a game plan for getting in to talk to Evan, Kevin was busy typing away at his computer. After a moment or two, the young prophet managed to find an easy solution to their problem.

"Looks like you'll still be able to get in as fake Feds. there's a DC event going on all week where all the museums and private collections in the city are open to the public."

Dean smacked the table in jubilation, "Perfect timing!"

"Yeah. Just make sure you're careful about where you go in the building. Other areas are still restricted access. And there will be security and metal detectors, so, no guns or knives."

"We'd better hit the road, then. It's at least a 20-hour drive to DC, and tomorrow is already Thursday. If we're gonna hit the road, we need to go now," Sam stretched before cleaning up the mass of papers in front of him.

"Right. Kevin, hold down the fort. We'll call if we need anything. Oh, and don't-"

"Go anywhere near, or talk to, Crowley while you're gone. Yeah. I know."

"Yep," Dean responded with a pop and a nod, and headed towards the bedrooms to pack his bag. Not even 15 minutes later, the infamous hunters were on their way to the nation's capital.

* * *

Evan made her way down the sidewalk, savoring the cool breeze of an otherwise humid August morning. Summer was coming to a close and schools would be back in session in only a few short weeks, which also meant the end of DC's major tourist season. She was more than thankful for the reprieve, hating the swarms of excessive crowds throughout that part of the city. Not to mention the fact that "Free Museum Week" had grown to be a stress-inducing nightmare. Typically, the Department of Interior library was practically empty, save for the random DOI employee or library staff member. The same went for the museum, where the few visitors usually booked tours at least a month in advance. But this week, on the other hand, meant troves of people loudly barreling through, disturbing displays, and rearranging books. Just the thought of it made her cringe.

On top of dealing with the waves of obnoxious, sweaty tourists, the library had just received 20 new tomes for it's collection. All of which still needed to be catalogued and put away, which was Evan's main task. It wouldn't have been so bad if her coworkers didn't magically disappear everytime a new tour group came through, leaving the young librarian to fend for herself. Evan wasn't stupid; she knew they were doig it on purpose. In the almost 7 months that she had been there, she had already received three letters of commendation, as well as a minor promotion. Thanks to her attention to detail and neurotic energy, Evan managed to clean up a four-year backlog, catalogue several boxes of donated books that her coworkers were _still_ sorting through after almost a year, and properly update and maintain the library's microfilm collection. Not to mention, she reorganized the shelves to properly match the Library of Congress call system.

While her efficiency and organizational skills made her a model employee in the eyes of management, her coworkers all viewed her as a brown nose and a tight-ass. They all thought of her as a pretentious snob because she earned a doctorate overseas in less time than other students at American Universities. Evan knew they badmouthed her often, but most days she was able to let it roll off her back with the knowledge that she was the better employee. Other times, however, she questioned her career and life choices. Evan was growing increasingly restless, craving a mental challenge. Despite "Free Week" and the 20 new books for the library, work was typically slow to an almost standstill. Her average workday was boring and underwhelming, with petty, dried-up, old bats acting like children. Why couldn't she have stayed overseas?

Evan stepped inside the familiar, tiny, chain coffee shop for a morning pick-me-up. Unsurprisingly, it was already buzzing with the morning rush. Placing her usual order, Evan maneuvered through the cluster of waiting patrons and tucked herself against the green-papered wall, next to the self-serve station. Hoping to pass the time as she waited, Evan pulled a worn copy of _Good Omens_ out of her bag and began reading. Not even two pages in and out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a ridiculously tall guy at the counter. He had to be close to a foot taller than her, a half-foot at the very least.

Evan subtly observed him from behind her book, making small mental notes regarding his appearance. His hair was a rich, chestnut color, just barely reaching to the nape of his neck. He also had an incredible tan, pointed nose, and broad shoulders that surprisingly remained contained in his navy suit. Admittedly, Evan couldn't help but admire his good looks, while wondering how he managed to squeeze into such a tiny space. When the tall stranger finally completed his order, however, Evan turned her attention back to the passage she had been reading. In her peripheral, she could see him take up across from her, on just the other side of the self-serve station. It wasn't long before the young woman got the overwhelming sensation that she was being watched, and she struggled not to smirk under the man's very obvious stare.

"Can I help you?" she asked coyly, refusing to glance up from her book.

"Oh! I, uh," the stranger stammered, clearly caught off-guard, "Sorry. I, uh, I just didn't think anyone still read _Good Omens_."

"_Excuse yo_u!?" Evan gasped dramatically as she smashed her already worn book to her chest. All self-restraint and maturity had flown out the window. "I'll have you know it is _always_ important that one prepares for the unlikely Armageddon due to satanic nuns switching Lucifer's baby with that of the American Attachee."

The stranger's eyebrows flew up as he let out a surprised laugh. With a subdued cough, however, he composed himself before speaking, "That's-that's true! Of course, the actual anti-christ was a seemingly normal kid from the middle of nowhere."

"Ah, yes… but did he have a dog?"

The man paused a moment, as if he were genuinely trying to remember, "Good question…"

"_See_? This is why one must be ready for the end of days and the eight bikers of the apocalypse."

"So, clearly you're a _Good Omens_ fan," he grinned, tiny dimples forming on his cheeks. It was more of a statement than an actual question. Evan couldn't help but admire his smile, and felt herself blush slightly under his gaze. Thankfully, the barista called her order at the counter.

"Trenta Iced Black Tea Lemonade. Light Ice."

Evan gratefully grabbed her drink and took a long sip before answering, hoping to cool the slight heat in her cheeks, "Naw, I just aspire to be as prepared and foreseeing as one Agnes Nutter, witch. Don't let the state of my book fool you."

The stranger let out an amused huff, "Well, just be careful about those nice and accurate prophecies. You won't know them until they hit you."

"Are you saying this from personal experience?" she asked with a coquettish smile as she set her drink down beside her.

Evan just noticed the intense shade of green the man's eyes were. Or were they grey? Underneath the ambient, soft lighting of the coffee shop, the stranger's eyes seemed to glow and change color. It was, admittedly hypnotic.

"You have _no_ idea."

The coffee shop had grown almost unbearably louder in the time the two of them had been there. Evan could barely make out the barista calling out an order for a straight black coffee and a Red Eye. It must have been her companion's order because he nodded in acknowledgement and reached for the two smaller cups at the counter. He was so tall, he barely had to lean around anyone to grab them. And his hands were so huge that the cups looked child-sized.

"Well, hopefully, those prophecies will be much nicer to you in the future?" Evan called out over the crowd as she returned her book to her bag.

"Maybe," the stranger shrugged, "Or, maybe you can turn that around for me?"

With a sly smirk and a wink, the tall man walked away, leaving Evan to quirk her brow in interest. Feeling impressed by her morning conversation, she reached for her tea once again before heading out herself. She was just about to take a sip when she noticed writing on the side of her cup that had not been there previously- _Sam 555-0124_. Evan felt her cheeks heat up again and bit her lip to silence the tiny, girlish squeal that threatened to slip out. Staring out the tinted window, she watched as Sam walked away with a sort of strut to him, clearly impressed with himself.

Evan couldn't help but smile, highly impressed that he had somehow managed to sneak his name and number onto her cup without her noticing. It was rare for her to take up conversations with strangers. It was rarer still for her to actually flirt. Squeezing out of the now overcrowded and stagnant shop, Evan made her way across the street, through a tiny fountain park, and to the backside of the Main Interior Building. Evan greeted the security guards as she passed and swiped into the building. Off-white painted walls and multi-colored tiles greeted her every step. In between each set of elevators, on the second and first floors at least, was a hand-painted mural depicting either a historical event or Native American tribe. Other paintings included various National Parks and protected species of animals from different regions of the US.

When Evan made her way down the brass-railed steps, across the first floor to the South Lobby where the library sat, she was unsurprised to see the usual chickens clucking away at the front desk. Snatching up two books as she passed, Evan returned them to their respective shelves before locking away her bag and starting her workday. Once again, her coworkers made not-so-subtle commentary and gave her dirty looks. And once again, she ignored them, choosing to actually do her job instead of laze about. The end of Free Museum Week was in sight, which undoubtedly meant a chaotic day. While she may not have been looking forward to the swarms of people, the early morning exchange with the mysterious Sam had already made her day.


	3. Questions

"You have no right to be so chipper in this weather," Dean griped bitterly as Sam handed him his coffee, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, "We're about to walk into a normally restricted-access library. Not many folks get this opportunity, Dean."

"Aww. Mr. Man of Letters is all excited to see _books_! You'd probably jizz your jeans if you went to the capitol building," Dean mocked as he took a swig from his morning brew, he and Sam making their way down the block to the main entrance of the Department of Interior.

"Bite me."

Sam and Dean made their way up the stone steps of the federal building. Like most buildings in DC, the sandstone exterior was familiar yet imposing. Colossal pilasters and pillars stood guard over antique, weathered bronze doors while hundreds of windows covered the upper half of the otherwise plain exterior. Admittedly, the Winchesters almost drove past it, not noticing the historical building tucked behind a line of trees and a large statue of a man astride a horse. The Department of Interior Main Building blended into the background, easily mistaken for another piece of the Smithsonian Institute.

As soon as they walked through the interior set of double doors into the lobby, Sam and Dean were greeted by a blast of cool air. Compared to the stagnant humidity of summer in Downtown DC, it was a welcome relief. Shiny, tan and chocolate-colored floors and more Indian sandstone decorated the main lobby, along with large portraits of the Secretary of the Interior and President of the United States. To the right sat the entrance to the DOI Auditorium, complete with 1930s woodwork. And to the left, flanked by "Free Museum Week" banners, was the entrance to the library.

The first thing the brothers noticed upon entering the library was a miniature buffalo on display in the center of the room, protected by a glass case. "Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam," Dean crooned off-key with a grin. Sam simply shook his head and rolled his eyes. Unlike his brother, he was far more interested in the library itself.

More checkered tiles and off-white sandstone decorated the walls and floor of the main area of the library. Two, long, mahogany tables similar to the ones in the Bunker sat on either side of the buffalo figure, with a matching receptions desk backed against the entryway to a smaller, wood-paneled area. While the main section of the library was relatively sparse, the upper level, which Sam could see clearly from the first floor, was lined floor to ceiling with shelves practically full of books. Knowing that they were in a library normally restricted to federal employees only, it took every ounce of willpower the younger Winchester had to combat the itch of curiosity.

Sam and Dean strode up to the reference desk where a rather bored-looking, middle-aged woman flipped through a magazine. As soon as she noticed the two hunters approach, however, she perked up instantly.

"How can I help you, gentlemen," she asked sweetly, shamelessly roaming her eyes over both of them.

"I'm Special Agent Plant. This is my partner, Special Agent Page," Dean introduced as he and Sam flashed their fake FBI badges. Thank God for Kevin thinking ahead and making sure their badges were up-to-date.

"We're looking for an Evan Colt. We understand that she's a librarian and curator here?" Sam explained.

Instantly, the sweet smile was replaced with a sour expression as the librarian rolled her eyes and let out an annoyed huff, "Oh. Of course, you are. She's up there," the woman pointed dismissively, "Stairs on the right."

Sam and Dean nodded their thanks and exchanged brief wide-eyed looks as they turned towards the stairs to the library's mezzanine level. Once they were sure they were out of earshot, they immediately began discussing the abrupt attitude change.

"Dude, what was that about?" Dean muttered, casting a quick glance back over his shoulder. The middle-aged receptionist was now watching them walk away with crossed arms, an expression of silent judgment on her face.

"Dunno, but clearly our fellow legacy has made some friends."

"Oh, yeah, they're total besties," Dean stated sarcastically.

Once they reached the upper level of the library, it didn't take Sam and Dean long to locate Evan. The moment Sam saw her, his breath caught in his throat. Perched atop a ladder, cataloging several books was the _Good Omens_ girl Sam had been flirting with earlier that morning. Short, chocolate hair partially tied back with side-swept bangs, her white cotton shirt, and grey, plaid skirt; Sam recognized her immediately.

"Oh, shit! _Finally_, a hot librarian!" Dean whispered excitedly.

Sam grunted in acknowledgment, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit, "Just keep it in your pants, Casanova."

As ashamed as he was to admit it, Sam couldn't help but admire the way her black, thigh-high stockings and garter peeked out when she leaned over to put away a book. Or the soft, supple curve of her backside that accentuated her feminine frame. Sam had to admit, this view was certainly preferable to only being able to partially see her from behind a self-serve station in a coffee shop. That wasn't to say she hadn't been pleasant to look at earlier. She was, in fact, quite pretty and young-looking. And Sam knew that if he was appreciating her aesthetic, his brother _definitely_ was going to make a move on her, much to his dismay.

"Ms. Colt? If we could have a moment?" Dean called up to her, flashing his badge when she peeked at him underneath her arm.

"Sure thing."

Setting the remaining three books atop the nearest shelf, Evan kicked her supporting leg out behind her, and gracefully slid down the ladder. When she turned around, Evan's breath caught, and she paused at the familiar face.

"_Agent_ Sam," she said with a girlish little grin, "I have to wonder about those nice and accurate prophecies if I'm seeing you again so soon."

Sam let out a bemused huff and smiled at her in return, "Oh, I don't know. At least it's not Sgt. Shadwell coming to interview you."

"If it were Shadwell interviewing me, he'd accuse me of being a harlot before I could even open my mouth to speak. At least you have nicer hair," Evan snarked in response.

Sam laughed at her remark as she smirked coyly. Dean glanced between the two of them, very much feeling like a third wheel who missed an inside joke. Rolling his eyes, Dean cleared his throat and got their attention. It would have been nice to know that his brother had already met who they were coming to talk to.

"Ms. Colt-"

"Evan."

"Evan," Dean continued, "We're here to ask you a few questions regarding your grandfather."

Evan's smile faltered and her face noticeably fell, "What would you like to know?"

"We know he passed away a few months ago. We're sorry for your loss," Sam said sympathetically.

"Thank you," she answered quietly.

"Your grandfather raised you, correct?"

"Yes. He and my grandmother did, ever since my parents died. But you should already know this, shouldn't you?"

"Just verifying intel," Dean reassured, "Now, Evan, we were wondering if your grandfather kept any journals when he was alive. Your family said that you would be the one to have them if he did."

Evan hummed in response, making a face as she did.

"What?"

"You two aren't the first ones to come asking about granddad's journals," she explained as she leaned back against the ladder.

Sam and Dean exchanged quick glances, "Who else came asking about them?"

"Well, about a week or two after he died, some woman with veteran affairs came by. And then just last week some guys came in here who claimed they were researching his old Naval Reserve group," Evan explained, making a face.

"I take it you didn't believe them," Sam surmised.

"Look, history and research are _kinda_ my thing, obviously. if you're going to do any sort of military research, you'd typically do something surrounding a major war, skirmish, or battle. Even minor ones would get looked into, depending on the war," Evan explained rather expressively, her head bobbing and hands waving as she spoke, "So, that being said, nobody looking for interesting military history is going to come snooping for information on the naval reserves from a salty, backwater town during the 1950s."

"Not unless they had a personal interest," Sam concluded again. Evan shrugged her shoulders and nodded in agreement.

Dean made a face and tilted his head in concession, "Point taken. What else can you tell us about these people?"

Evan took a sharp breath as she wracked her memory, "It was months ago but the woman was tightly dressed in a black suit. Brunette, skinny, looked like a typical Fed. But the two guys last week," Evan scrunched up her nose in displeasure, "Not like they belonged in a federal building."

"How so?"

"Uhh… Try grungy, roadie-rejects in cheap suits. Security kept an eye on them too since they looked and acted a little shady. It's summer, so of course, we get people off the street who just pop in to cool off and are then on their way. But these guys made everybody cringe."

Sam and Dean pondered a moment about the mystery people who came in. With Alphas working to bring Eve back fully, it wasn't surprising that they would send someone to look into the journals. But twice? Something seemed off about it.

"So, _do_ you have the journals?" Sam asked.

"I do, but," Evan paused and cast her gaze down at her feet. When she spoke again, her voice held a slight quiver, "I haven't really been able to bring myself to read them yet. I mean, I took a peek at them but, I couldn't…" Sam gave her a sympathetic look. Clearly, she was still taking her grandfather's death hard.

"We understand," Dean nodded solemnly, "Now tell us, have you noticed any strange smells lately, like rotten eggs or sulfur?"

Sam whipped his head so quick it should have snapped in half. Evan furrowed her brows in confusion at the question, "What?"

"Maybe anyone with strange, or black eyes?"

Evan stared at Dean like he grew an extra head.

"Sorry. He, uh, i-ignore him. We'll just… We'll be in touch if we have any other questions," Sam quickly recovered, albeit panicking slightly, as he pushed his brother back towards the stairs. "Thank you for your time."

"Yeah… Uh-huh," Evan furrowed her brow and crossed her arms as she watched them leave. She could see Sam hissing at his partner as they walked. Clearly, he wasn't too happy with that last question, although it was a strange question, to begin with.

Turning around, Evan climbed the ladder and attempted to resume her task. But just as she picked up a book, she hesitated and rotated on the ladder to look down at the main floor. The two federal agents were talking heatedly while they walked, both taking long strides out of the library and around the corner. So many people had come asking about the journals, more than she had previously let on. It was getting to the point where Evan was growing increasingly suspicious. Now, after having seven different inquiries into the journals, Evan was withholding details on sheer principle. It certainly didn't help that the majority of people had been overly pushy, although Sam and his partner had been a lot more accommodating.

Quickly getting back to task, Evan appropriately shelved the three books and descended the ladder once again. Making her way downstairs, she ignored the judgmental looks of her coworker and went straight to where her bag was kept in the back. Sure that she was alone, Evan opened her locker and pulled a worn, leather-bound journal from her bag and gently traced the cover engraving, getting lost in thought. She had liked Sam earlier when they flirted in the coffee shop, but their second meeting left Evan feeling wary. There was no _way_ that he and his "partner" were federal agents, not with those cheap suits and Sam's hair. Evan hugged the journal to her chest and breathed deeply- something was wrong, and it was starting to scare her.

* * *

"Dude, why the hell are you asking her about _demons_? We already know it's monsters who want the thing," Sam hissed as they made their way back to the Impala.

"Think about it, Sammy, Crowley was told by _Abaddon_ that Alphas are trying to resurrect Eve. Why would she just let that slide? Monsters have been known to kill demons. Eve coming back not only means trouble for Crowley but for the red-headed bitch as well."

"So, what, you think she put a hit out on Evan so she could get the journals?"

"Maybe. But consider this: those journals could contain a way to seal up Purgatory forever. With heaven on lock-down and Crowley off the playing field-"

"Getting those journals to close Purgatory would guarantee Abaddon the throne to Hell, and make demons the top of the food chain," Sam finished, leaning his elbows against the roof of the Impala as realization set in.

"Yahtzee. I'll tell ya what, we definitely gotta keep an eye on her. She's a walking target for them right now, whether or not those journals have what they're looking for," Dean pointed out.

Sam let out a sigh as he climbed into Baby. Dean was right- Evan was basically a sitting duck and if monsters didn't get to her out of impatience or desperation, Abaddon just might.

The Winchesters made their way back to their motel to shower and change. They both seriously doubted that anything supernatural would blatantly make a move at a federal building in broad daylight, so it made more sense for the brothers to return before Evan's shift was over. In the meantime, the hunters grabbed food and hit the books again, dialing Kevin back at the Bunker to see if he uncovered anything on his end either.

"Whatcha got, Kevin?"

"Nothing new so far about Eve or the Alphas," Kevin admitted, "But I did some more digging on Tennison."

"And?"

"Nothing really out of the ordinary. Was a mechanic for a post office, briefly worked for Library of Congress, moved back to his family's property in Southern Maryland two years after his wife retired from the Census Bureau…"

"So that family has a history of government connections," Dean concluded.

"Basically."

"Not surprising for a Man of Letters," Sam commented, "Do you think his wife was a member, too? Wouldn't be the first time they welcomed a woman among their ranks, especially considering Josie Sands."

"Good point. Hey, Kev, see what you can dig up on his wife. There might be a possibility that she was a Men of Letters member."

"Will do."

"Call us when you find something."

Dean hung up the call and stared at his phone a moment, brows furrowed as he became lost in thought. He could _swear_ that he knew the name Tennison from somewhere but couldn't quite place it. It had been nagging at the back of his mind ever since Sam came across it at the Bunker. Until they knew for certain that Evan was out of harm's way, and they had secured the journals, however, it was just going to have to wait.


	4. Night at the Library

The day seemed to fly by after Evan's conversation with the mysterious federal agents. Before she knew it, five o'clock snuck up and the building became a ghost town. Tonight, just like every Thursday night in the nation's capital, folks would swarm the highways and metro stations, and head out for the weekend. It was one of the last weekends of summer, and the entire tri-state area would be scrambling to get away to Ocean City, Virginia Beach, and the Outer Banks one last time. Seizing the opportunity, and knowing full well that she would _not_ want to get stuck on the over-crowded metro on her way home, Evan decided to stay later than usual.

Three tour groups had come through, followed shortly after by several summer camps. Between the onslaught of clamorous guests and having her mind drift back constantly to the two journals in her bag, Evan had found it difficult to be productive. However, she had still managed to get the majority of a large box of books logged into the system. With only three books left to catalogue before shelving, Evan hoped to give herself a laid-back Friday, and a smooth end to the busiest week the Interior Library had ever seen.

Outside, Sam and Dean watched the main entrance to the Department of Interior from the comfort of the Impala. The building had just about shut down for the day, the crowds thinned out, and their target would presumably be getting off work at any minute. There were a few stray people who meandered into the building since the Winchesters parked across the street an hour ago, but no one worth noting. Mostly, they were the evening shift for building maintenance and parents swinging back with their cars to pick up young children from the employee childcare center.

"Man, you sure that no one is gonna go in the other entrance?" Dean asked as he once again shifted restlessly in his seat.

"The north lobby closes earlier than this one and doesn't allow visitors. Plus, the museum closed at four-thirty and the library at five," Sam stated plainly, keeping his eyes on the front of the building.

"Why do you know that? I swear, it's like you're an encyclopedia of random knowledge. You gonna tell me the place was built during the Civil War next?" Dean retorted dramatically. Despite being later in the day, it was still way too hot to be stuck inside the car on a stake-out. Especially when the a/c never seemed to work and having the windows open only let in more stagnant air.

"_Actually_, it was built in 1936 as the first of many New Deal buildings by the FDR Administration. It was meant to emphasize the 'heroic age of government,' and set a precedent for the rest of DC as we know it today."

Dean stared blankly at his brother, who was still refusing to turn away from the building's entrance.

"You'd know that too if you'd ever actually do research instead of watching cartoon porn and sleeping," Sam chided as he whipped his head sharply and gave Dean an unamused look.

Dean scrunched his face and imitated Sam with a mocking voice, "_If YoU'd EvEr acTuAllY dO ReSeArCh…_ Yeah, Yeah. Shuddup, bitch."

Sam let out a heavy, annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes so hard they saw the curvature of the earth, "Jerk."

The heat was definitely getting to both of them. Something had to give, and soon; especially if Dean was going to keep grunting and jostling about in the driver's seat. Sweat was slowly gliding down his spine and forehead, reappearing instantly no matter how many times he wiped it away. Both men had shed their outer layers, leaving them in just jeans and t-shirts, but even that was not enough. At least out in the midwest they had breezes but here? It was practically suffocating, and every few minutes Dean whined about it. Just as Sam was contemplating getting the duct tape out of the trunk as an attempt to save his remaining sanity, he noticed two grungy-looking men walking up to the building.

"Hey."

"Hm," Dean grunted in acknowledgment.

Sam nodded towards the two men, and Dean sat forward to get a better view from around his brother. They were of average height and slim build but looked like they belonged in a roadhouse or dive bar, rather than a federal building. What made them _really_ catch Sam's attention, however, was the fact that they seemed to be hugging the building and trees as they walked.

"Looks like our mystery researchers have returned, " Dean commented.

"Yeah… They walking weird to you?"

Dean furrowed his brow in concentration as he watched, but smoothed out when the realization hit him, "Now what do we know that avoids sunlight? Usually prefers dark places and nocturnal activities?"

_Vampires_.

* * *

Evan was softly humming "Fly Me to the Moon" as she finished up her work, her mind having drifted far far away once again. The journals remained tucked safely in her bag at the reference desk below, calling out to her. So many people had come by asking about it lately. Evan had to admit, it certainly piqued her interest, not that that was necessarily hard to do- she could never resist a book or the thought of uncovering something hidden or secret. It was a trait that, unfortunately, had gotten her into trouble quite a few times as a child. Now as an adult in her mid-twenties, Evan had _much_ better self-control… Or at least, that was what she told herself.

A sudden boom echoed across the library, like a heavy book getting knocked over. Startled by the sudden noise when she was supposed to be the only person there, Evan gently set the books she was putting away atop the shelf, and peered out over the balcony railing. Out in the main area, nothing seemed out of place- no books were on the ground, no displays turned over, and her bag remained where she left it. Not a soul was to be seen and the library was quiet once again.

Evan furrowed her brow in confusion as she scanned the floor below. She knew that the guys in facilities had always joked that the building was haunted, but it was just nonsense. At the same time, however, Evan was not what one would call the bravest of sorts, and had no desire to test out any theories. Giving her shoulders a little shake, Evan turned back to the shelves behind her, only to bump into something _solid_.

"Hello, Ms. Colt. We need to check out a book," one of the supposed researchers from a week ago cooed. He grinned sinisterly at her with dirty, crooked teeth, sending chills down her spine. A moment later, however, a much sharper set of teeth descended as he growled lowly.

Evan let out a startled squeak and tried to run away, instantly getting grabbed roughly by the man. Arms pinned, she could only kick and scream, hopeful that one of the security guards out in the lobby would hear her. As the would-be-assailant tried to drag her backward and away, Evan managed to kick off the balcony rail and smash them into a nearby bookcase. As she stumbled out of his grip, the second man attempted to grab at her as well, causing Evan to trip and flip over the ledge.

"EVAN!"

Sam and Dean rushed into the library, alarmed by the sight of Evan dangling from above. She clung desperately to the slick, sandstone edge, her hands sliding as she struggled to get a firm grip. Tears began to stream as she swung, terrified of the roughly 30-foot drop to the tile below.

"I got them, you grab her!" Dean shouted as he tore off towards the staircase, machete in hand.

The two men rushed to grab her in a chaotic attempt to pull her back to them before Dean reached them. Evan screamed and kicked as they pulled at her, compromising her already unstable grip. Dean quickly caught up to them, however, and, with a flourish of his blade, chopped the head off one of the vampires. Dropping Evan's hands roughly, the remaining vampire started brawling with the hunter.

"SAM!"

"Drop down! I've got you!" Sam called from below her.

Evan closed her eyes and hesitated, but only for a moment. She was desperate to escape her would-be kidnappers, and while she only just met Sam that morning, he certainly seemed the better option. So, with shaking arms and a quiet gasp, Evan let go. The fall was both neverending and brief. With a quiet grunt, Sam caught her and pulled her tightly against him as she let out a scared sob.

"Sam! We've got company!" Dean called from the floor above as three more vampires appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Sam moved to set Evan on the edge of the desk and glanced briefly to where Dean was fighting above. Turning back to the frightened librarian, Sam gave Evan a quick once-over. She was trembling and hyperventilating, with small bruises forming around her wrists and biceps, but for the most part got away unscathed. Her face was red and tears were still streaming down her cheeks while she struggled to regain control of her breathing. If Sam hadn't been holding her upright, Evan surely would have crumpled to the floor.

"Hey, hey… It's alright. You're okay. Breathe for me," he soothed, watching anxiously as she seemed to steady a bit.

"SAM!"

Sam's head shot up again, adrenaline causing his head to pound, "Hey. I gotta go help him, but you stay right here, okay? I'll come back."

Evan gulped hard and nodded shakily. With that go-ahead, Sam took off in a blur, rushing to get to his brother. Evan could hear crashes and cursing from the brawl above. The echoes bounced off the stone walls of the library- why hadn't security come running yet? Maintaining eye contact with the floor above, Evan silently slipped off the desk and stumbled to the ground on wobbly legs. Crawling behind the desk, she pulled her linen messenger bag from the chair and checked to make sure the journals were still in-tact. Stumbling slightly, Evan ran from the chaos in the library.

Out in the lobby, she skidded to a stop and let out a surprised scream at the sight- four security guards lay prone, blood everywhere with their throats ripped out. Falling to her knees, Evan dropped her bag and attempted to wake the guard nearest her. Shaking him desperately, she prayed for any signs of life.

"Oh please, oh please."

Nothing. Another crash sounded from the library, startling her. Snatching up her bag, Evan took off again, slipping briefly on the blood. Through the heavy double-doors, around the corner, and up the block towards the backside of the building Evan ran in panic. It wasn't until she crashed into the hood of a DC police cruiser that she even stopped. The officers stepped out of the car and attempted to calm her down. When they saw the bruises on her arms and the blood on her knees, however, they immediately kicked into gear.

Everything after that was a blur. Evan couldn't remember telling the police a hysterical recounting of what just happened. She couldn't remember them setting her down in the back of the cruiser, calling in back-up, or seeing at least 20 police cars swarm the building. EMTs checked her over, cleaned her knees, and eventually informed the officers of her going catatonic. At one point, someone had wrapped a blanket around her tightly to stop the shaking, despite the warm summer evening. But nothing seemed to register in Evan's distressed state. Her mind was a buzz as it constantly replayed the night on loop, and the blood… Just so much blood...

News reporters eventually flooded the scene, several of which attempted to get her attention to interview her. But Evan couldn't hear any of it, her mind buzzing and pounding from the adrenaline rush. She was temporarily blinded by the searchlight of an overhead helicopter but a moment later it refocused on the entrance to the building. Hours later, Evan had given an official statement to both DC police and the FBI, turned her stockings over as evidence, and signed a waiver refusing a mental health evaluation. Once the FBI had been granted access to security footage by the remaining two security staff, who had been patrolling the upper floors during the incident, Evan was finally cleared and released. One of the DC officers offered to drive her home, which she greatly appreciated despite the trip being spent mostly in silence.

When they arrived at her apartment complex, the officer gave Evan his business card as well as the card of a mental health professional, for in-case she needed someone to talk to. He genuinely seemed concerned but in her current exhausted state, Evan honestly couldn't be bothered to entirely care. Once she was safely inside her building, the officer nodded goodbye and took his leave.

Evan sluggishly trudged her way to the third floor and slipped inside her studio apartment. It was tiny, dark, and sparsely decorated, but after the type of day she had, Evan was happy to be home. Dropping her bag on one of the giant floor cushions, she collapsed onto her soft, makeshift bed and closed her eyes. The canvas material was cool against her skin and felt soothing as her body finally decompressed after the events of the day. Everything hurt, she was exhausted, and a migraine was steadily beating her skull. For an hour or so she lay there, wanting to drift off but still restless enough for sleep to be just outside her reach.

Eventually, she slowly and stiffly heaved herself off the floor cushion couch, and let herself roll softly onto the laminate floor. It took her another few minutes to will herself off the floor and to the bathroom. As she brushed her teeth, Evan made mental notes to call her cousin, Aaron, in the morning and let him know what happened. She should probably make several phone calls before the news of the night made its way to them. However, the moment she came back out to the only other room in her apartment, teeth brushed, face washed, and clothes changed, all thoughts pushed from her mind. Letting out a deep sigh, Evan collapsed onto the floor cushions again and finally passed out. Everything would just have to wait until tomorrow. She just couldn't handle anymore of today.

* * *

Sam and Dean snuck out of the back of the Department of Interior just as the DC police officers where getting Evan settled in their cruiser and calling back-up. From where they came out, they could see her in hysterics and looking worse-for-wear. Instantly, they heard sirens sounding from all over the city, and took off running around the other side of the building to where they left Baby.

"Remember how I said I wasn't thrilled about the idea of being back on the FBI's Most Wanted?" Sam asked breathlessly as Dean started up the engine and took off back towards their motel.

"Yeah, that just went to shit," Dean answered in a clipped tone. They knew to expect the two men that were grabbing at Evan when they arrived, but the other three were a surprise. What was an even bigger surprise was the fact that out of the three newcomers to the fight, two of them were werewolves.

"Since when do vamps and werewolves work together?" Dean asked angrily as he tore out onto the highway, glancing at his rearview every few seconds to make sure they weren't being pursued.

"I don't know," Sam admitted as he shook his head, "As far as the lore goes, they're natural enemies in the monster world."

"Well, clearly _they_ didn't get the memo."

Tensions were high; it had been a rough fight inside the library, with Sam almost getting thrown over the upper-level rail himself. The bullets with dead man's blood that they had loaded in their guns proved useful, but neither hunter was prepared for the werewolves. Thankfully, they had found several artifacts on display that were silver and served as useful makeshift weapons. When they returned to the main floor of the library, however, both Sam and Dean panicked when they found Evan missing. At first they had assumed that she had been snatched up by another monster since they had heard her scream during the fight. Seeing her safely outside with city policemen was a relief, but also further complicated the situation.

"So, what now?" Sam asked eventually, still winding down from the fight.

Dean sat quietly for a moment, thinking over the situation before answering, "We're gonna have to go steal the journals. Get them far away from the girl, and hopefully lure any other monsters away from her."

"What if that doesn't work, though?" Sam questioned, "For all we know, they could still come after her regardless."

Dean tongued the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Sam had a point- who was to say that the alphas wouldn't send someone to kill her just on principle at this point? Or eat her, or worse, _turn her_? Even if he and Sam got the journals away from her, there was no guarantee that she would ever be safe.

"She's gonna have to go into hiding," Dean concluded finally, "At least until everything blows over and we take care of the alphas."

Sam sighed and sat quietly for a moment, "So, just like with Kevin…"

Dean stared ahead, not speaking again. Kevin still fought them on staying in the bunker, but between Abaddon and Crowley's demons still itching for him, he was stuck. Originally, it had been the goal to let the young prophet go home once the gates of Hell were sealed. They all knew how that had turned out, however. They had sent Kevin to Atlantic City for a weekend, just to give him a bit of a break and some fresh air, but they all knew it wasn't the same. How many more people's lives were they going to uproot for the sake of protecting them and possibly saving the world. Try as he might to hide it, Dean simultaneously felt guilty about it yet enjoyed the expansion of their family. How selfish was that?

"Yeah… Just like Kevin."


End file.
